


New Traditions

by Aithilin



Series: Fresh Start [16]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Found Family, M/M, deathbyfluffweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 16:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: (forFluffpocalypsetheme "Annual Events")There are new traditions in Galahd in the wake of the ten years of darkness. And like most holidays, they're better spent with family.





	New Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> Also at my [Tumblr](http://aithilin.tumblr.com/)

“It sort of became a tradition,” Nyx said as they walked. The town may have been small, and a pain to rebuild— with the husks and ruins of what it once was still standing like skeletal spectres of his childhood around every street. But it had come along, “When you were taking that ten year nap.”

It had been a good day. Crisp and autumny as Nyx remembered. Cool sea air blowing in and the more temperate climate of the southern island reminding him of the changing seasons in Insomnia. The foliage had been turning for weeks now— the broad leaves falling in fire-like confetti around the town— until Nyx had decided that he needed to get out of the little apartment and away from the ongoing renovations. He knew that Galahd Canyon would be alight with the colours soon— the river choked by by the fallen leaves and dry branches. He knew that the cold winds of the northern islands, the glacial northern mountains, wouldn’t quite reach his little town unless the winds turned. But the sea was grey, and cold in the distance though they still had a few weeks more of the colours before the real cold— the seeping bone chill of the ocean— swept in. 

It had been a good day; with Noctis up and doing well, and the restless desire to be moving getting them both out and away from the renovations. The wounds were healing, the stitches finally out, and Noct had paused in their walk back to the apartment at the sight of the lanterns being strung up across doorways and from balconies and trees. He had finally asked what festival it was once he saw the little bowls of sweets and food left out on stoops— little bags of the stuff tied to branches and beams, or left on the window sill. 

Nyx had nearly forgotten about it. “It started off as part of a funerary thing. Leave out a last offering and all that.”

“When people were dying because of me.”

“Stop that,” they had been out for lunch, picked up light groceries for themselves— the intention for the evening was to stay out of Ignis’ way as he worked out the last of the menu with Libertus. Neither of them intended to be a referee for that— not with the way the two argued about the appropriate amount of spice and whether or not a Lucian main could be on offer with a Galahdian side. “But yeah. We lost a lot of people, so we started doing this sort of community memorial thing. It just mixed with some other stuff around here.”

“Like?”

Nyx knew all the traditions that carried over— what wasn’t lost in the darkness and what wasn’t corrupted by the Occupation. Nyx knew that there were festivals that would still take years to get back up to where they should be, celebrations that needed to be rebuilt with the remains of what survived the night. The holidays would return the longer the daylight lasted— next year, and the next, and the next; as Eos reminded people of what their hope was supposed to look like. “Ancestor reverence, for one. Libs can tell you all about that. I’m a terrible descendant.”

It had been an old tradition— keep the angry spirits at bay, ward off the wanderers and the vengeful with little bribes of sweets and meals. He remembered his mother doing the same, once or twice a year during holidays and birthdays. Little morsels and offerings left out during the days of bad luck, disappearing in the night. There were the Ulric hard biscuits and a saucer of tea left out for this particular sort of memorial, and a bottle of familiar beer and strip of steak from dinner left for his father. Nyx knew that it was the strays and the animals taking the food left out, but he had let himself believe when he honoured the tradition after Selena— 

He smiled to Noct to keep his thoughts in the present, in the good mood. In the way the chill of the afternoon air coloured his chesk and made his eyes brighter, with the autumn sun still casting long shadows across the leaves around them. “It’s just a tradition that stuck.”

Noct nodded his understanding, stepping carefully into a pile of dried leaves blown up against the edge of the sidewalk. Nyx made a show of rolling his eyes at the small smile that bloomed into a full grin at the audible crunch beneath his boot. “You child.”

“You’re just old, bartender.”

It was a challenge. Nyx knew it was a challenge. That little smirk reminiscent of the younger prince who spent their first autumn date trying very hard not to grin with childish glee at the crunch of leaves as they cut through a park. One that Nyx had no trouble laughing off at the time. But they were older now. Noct just returned to him. Healing, a hunter, tired. They had survived a war and occupation, the world around them crumbled to ruin in the dark and rebuilt on the bones left behind. And now Noct was smirking like his old self as the colourful leaves tumbled around them.

It was much easier now to hop off the curb and grin at the satisfying crunch and crush of leaves beneath his boots. “Happy now, pretty thing?” 

“Very.”

The warmth of the bar was almost a shock compared to the chill outside— the air heavy with the warmth and promise of roasts and spices, thick soups and hot, spiced ciders. They could practically taste the experiments on the breeze chasing the cold out before it could seep in past the threshold. The heat of the spices Libertus favoured made light with the citrus of a familiar Lucian dessert, plates and glasses piled on the bar but picked clean. The voices followed on the heat, soft muttering shared between Ignis and Libertus as they worked between the sizzle of a pan and the chime of cutlery on plates. 

In a few moments, they would be dragged into the clean-up of whatever battle had been fought over the menus. The chaos of the gathering and business meeting would be moved upstairs, where there was better coffee, where the blow-by-blow could be recounted until a decision was made on what meals would be on offer when the bar reopened. Despite the warmth and wonders from the kitchen below, Nyx would offer to share the small store-bought meal with the other two. And pointedly ignore the way Ignis would steal a bite anyway to critique, even if he had refused more than a coffee. 

Up in the smaller kitchen— in the warmer living room, where they would need to crack a window to let the autumn air in to cool the apartment as they gathered again— Nyx would watch with some semblance of hope as Libertus picked up the tradition of the day. He hoped, as Libertus moved knife and hands over little wedges of apples until they resembled a certain small Astral, that there would be a flash of recognition as Noct was swatted away from the treat and soft insults were traded between them. 

“What are these for, Libs?” Noct asked, stealing a wedge despite the knife brandished at him. 

“The dead, so keep eating them and you’ll actually be entitled to them.” At the curious look, Libertus rolled his eyes, “They’re for someone better than you.”

“The Little Highness of Lucis,” Nyx supplied, meal dished out and another treat disappearing into Noct’s hands like a dare. 

And Nyx knew that grin, he knew that little smirk and flash of mischief in his lover’s eye. Wished that he had Ignis to act with him to keep the fallout from Noct’s impulsiveness to a minimum. But the most Ignis could do now was wait for the fallout and step in if it ever came to blows, though his attention was tilted towards the two, intent on catching whatever Noct was planning. “What if I told you I was the Noctis you were making these for, Libs?”

In the years that had crept by through darkness and loss, and years of this same memorial, Nyx knew that Libertus had always been protective of his memory of the Lucian prince. He had spent plenty of nights, like the others in the town, reminiscing about the lost adoptive little brother who had vanished into the darkness— the tradition of feeding the dead and keeping them alive still close to Libertus’ more superstitious heart. The regret of his actions eased with the passing of the holiday and the way the small treats— little wedges of apples cut to have the appearance of long ears— disappearing with the dawn. Nyx remembered the years the regret ate at his friend’s conscience, and the promises lost to the ten years of dark to return to Lucis once Galahd was safe, to help the search for the lost prince. Nyx expected it to be too sensitive to tease about, too big to reveal to his friend and hope it stuck after the critical once over Libertus gave the smirking man stealing his carved apples. 

“You’re definitely enough of an asshole to be royalty,” there was no malice in it, no anger or hurt, or the resentment Nyx had expected. There was no violent push away from Noct as if insulted, and no pause in his task. Just another treat placed directly into Noct’s hands as they grinned.


End file.
